low, fierce tones. 

 "You're following me. Now, I give you warning, Early. I've had enough of your nonsense lately. Take my tip and clear off while you're safe. You'll get none of our supper." 

 George folded his arms, and assumed a theatrical posture. 

 "Albert Busby," he said firmly, "it can't be done. I don't want your supper. I'm coming with you, Albert Busby, to see that—you—tell—the—truth." 

 Busby collapsed, and had to support himself against a lamp-post. 

 "What do you mean?" he asked faintly. 

 "I know all," said George, in sepulchral tones. 

 "All? All what?" 

 "You know what. I'm obeying the will of a dead man. Did you ever hear of Old Joe Fairbrother?" 

 That was enough for Busby. He turned away his head and gave vent to a groan. 

 "You don't mean to say he put you on my track?" gasped Busby. 

 George waved his hand. "The secrets of the dead must be kept," he said. "Ask me no more." 

 The next hundred yards were traversed in silence. They passed the Free Library just as the doors were closing, and turned off towards the square where stood the corner house with railings. Suddenly Busby stopped in the middle of the pavement and put one hand on the arm of his friend. 

 "Early," he said, "you're not going to give me away, are you?" 

 George drew himself up. "The commands of a dead man——" he began. 

 "Stop that bosh," said Busby, irritably. "I don't want Fanny to know all about this; what are you going to tell her,—that's the question?" 

 "It isn't," said George; "the question is, what are you going to tell her?" 

 "She doesn't know all the facts of this business," said Busby, addressing a lamp-post on the other side of the road. 

 "She soon will," said George. 

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